THREE YEARS LATER
“IT’S TIME!” Conor booms, storming into my house without so much as a courtesy knock. He’d bite my head off if I did the same. “You ready?”
I cock an eyebrow over the screen of my laptop, surveying him with Cody in tow. Dressed to paint the town red, they’re an unfamiliar sight. I can’t recall the last time we went out together. It must’ve been before Conor’s twins were born.
“I’m missing some information,” I say, my eyes darting to the family birthday list on the fridge. The Hayes clan now totals twenty-seven. While my memory’s great, remembering that many birthdays is a struggle.
A quick scan confirms I haven’t forgotten any looming celebrations. There’s nothing till the twins’ fourth birthday next month—a party I’m already prepared for. My assistant bought the gifts and cleared three hours in my schedule.
“Nothing in my calendar includes you two today,” I add, my attention snapping back to the screen.
Undeterred, Cody rolls up the sleeves of his jersey, perching his butt against my kitchen island. “We offer our sincerest apologies for failing to arrange a beer-drinking session in advance. Would you be oh so kind and fit us in for an emergency meeting this fine Friday evening?”
Asshole.
He’s close enough for a well-aimed punch to his bicep that wipes the smartass smirk off his face.
“To the point, Cody. What’s up? Trouble in paradise? You need a shoulder to cry on?” My eyes flick to Conor. “Or is it your paradise that’s in trouble?”
“Actually, it’s yours,” Conor chirps, making himself at home as he rummages through my fridge, probably searching for beer. “We’re staging an intervention.”
Asshole number two.
Though I admit, they got my attention.
My veins pulse, an unspoken challenge hanging in the air. Pushing my laptop aside, I scrutinize them both, wondering if they figured out my well-kept secret.
If so, how much do they know?
A quick appraisal tells me they don’t know shit. They’re positively buzzing underneath their forced gazes of condemnation. If they knew, they wouldn’t be doing this alone. Our four older brothers, younger sister, their better halves, and our parents would be here, armed with moralizing speeches that wouldn’t differ much from those they dished out three years ago while I lay in a hospital bed, barely hanging onto life.
Oh, and I’d be sporting a black eye and a split lip by now.
“Again, some info missing. Either spit it out or say goodbye,” I clip, accepting a Corona from Conor.
“We’re going out,” he clarifies.
“No shit, Sherlock. I gathered that much.”
Cody plops down on the bar stool, elbows hitting the counter. “You work like a fucking robot, bro. You barely have time to breathe, let alone meet someone, so we’re going old school and making things happen.” He grins, misplaced pride flashing in his eyes.
I doubt whatever they have in store tonight was his idea. Every scrap of Conor’s attention is taken up by his sons these days. No room in his head for brilliant ideas.
“Logan was reminiscing the other day about the bets he used to make with Theo and Nico,” he continues. “One evening in particular gave us an excellent idea.”
Not rolling my eyes proves a struggle. I know what he’s talking about. It’s one of Logan’s favorite stories. Not just because those bets helped him get together with Cass, but also because Nico had been helping him all along while Logan thought Nico wouldn’t accept him and Cassidy being together.
“If you say—”
“Express Dates!” Conor finishes my sentence, wearing a Joker-style grin. “Didn’t see that coming, did you?”
“Only from a mile away,” I shoot back. “And the answer is, as you very well expect, a loud, resounding no.”
“Give us one good reason why not. What harm will it do?”
“Other than annoying your wives?”
Cody tears the bottle from his lips mid-chug. “Fine, so we lied. It wasn’t exactly our idea. The girls are in on this. They know where we’re going and approved this mission.”
Conor smirks under his nose. “We’re your wingmen, bro. Not participating. We’ll be at the bar in the next room. If you find someone, great. You’ll take her home or whatever. If not, there’s always beer.”
“The answer’s still no. You two are so busy with your lives that you hardly ever have time for a drink. So, like the good brother I am, I’ll fit you into my schedule tonight, but I’m not wasting half the evening getting turned down by desperate women.”
They share a loaded look, crossing their arms in perfect sync. Their stance, combined with the holes their eyes burn in my face, quickens my pulse.
I don’t need to hear what they’re thinking.
We were born with a nonverbal way of communicating—triplet skill, I call it—and right now, I read them like a book.
I’m off my game. I should’ve trusted my instinct the moment they said intervention. They do know, and they’re ready to use that knowledge against me.
“Fuck,” I hiss, running a heavy hand down my face. “How did you find out?”
Cody chugs the rest of his beer, inspiring Conor to follow his lead. Once they’re done, he grabs two more from the fridge. Looks like wherever we end up tonight, I’m the designated driver.
Unless they ordered a taxi.
I fucking hope they did because numbing the humiliation with bucketloads of beer is my best bet right now.
“You really thought we wouldn’t figure it out sooner or later?” Cody scoffs, taking his bun apart only to redo it exactly the same. “Give us some credit.”
“You followed me again?”
“Not this time. If it makes you feel better, it took us a while to catch on.”
A while? It took almost a year and a half. That’s not a while.
“I’m guessing you started again when you bought that cocktail bar in Pomona, right?”
“A little earlier,” I admit. Playing dumb won’t save me. They wouldn’t be here, suggesting Express Dates, if they didn’t have leverage. Interestingly, they kept my secret safe instead of ratting me out to the whole family.
“Told you,” Conor pokes Cody’s ribs before setting the second beer bottle beside my half-empty one.
I guess a taxi it is.
“What gave me away?”
“Your mood.” Conor opens the fridge again, fetching a fruit bowl my maid prepared for my midnight snack. “You were throwing hissy fits every day after you left the hospital, and then suddenly, you were just… calm. Composed. At first, we thought you met someone. I mean, we thought you were smart, so we didn’t think you’d be racing again after you almost fucking died. But weeks turned to months and with no girl in sight we scrapped that idea.”
With a defeated sigh, I finish beer number one, clutching the second cold bottle with both hands. The lack of someone significant in my life, that one special person, might be why I ended up clinically dead for over four minutes.
My brothers have been building their families for years. It took a toll on me, the odd one out. The only single brother out of seven, always alone at family gatherings, always alone at home, always missing something.
Cody’s right. I work like a robot. Always have. Racing is my time-out from that and the loneliness that increases with every Hayes who goes down on one knee.
Before the accident, I still believed my time would come. Even though it was taking longer than I hoped, I thought one day love would just happen for me on its fucking own.
Everything changed the night of the crash.
Once I was discharged from the hospital, I spent six months in physiotherapy, growing ever more desperate with each passing day.
Once back on my feet, I signed up for every available dating website and went on countless dates, sometimes juggling three or four in a single evening, but nothing ever stuck.
After a year of disappointment, I called it quits.
Maybe I’m destined to be a forever bachelor.
“I assume this is the part where you lay down your demands,” I probe, even though I know the answer. “My participation in exchange for your silence, correct?”
“Sounds like blackmail, doesn’t it?” Conor bounces his eyebrows. “Be glad we kept our mouths shut. You’d be one sorry motherfucker if the others found out you’re racing.”
“Don’t worry, though,” Cody coos, treating me with the same sweet, coy voice he uses on our two nieces. “We have your back, as always.” He clears his throat, rising from the stool as he confirms, “Express Dates in exchange for silence.”
“One evening?” I ask, ensuring there aren’t any loopholes they can hang me with later.
Not that I have any say in the matter. They fucking own me and know damn well I’ll do whatever they say as long as they keep my extracurricular activities a secret.
“Yeah… that would be a no.” Conor huffs a laugh. “I mean, if you find the love of your life tonight, then sure, one evening. Otherwise we’ll keep requesting your precious time until the right girl materializes on your path.”
“You can’t manipulate feelings, Conor. Of all people, you should know best that shit like that doesn’t happen on schedule.”
Cody bobs his head with a solemn look. “You’re right. The Cupid acts in mysterious ways, but he sure as hell can’t work if you’re stuck in your office or at home all the livelong day. You won’t meet your future wife in your fucking kitchen.”
“What makes you think I even want a wife?” I ask, watching them share another loaded look. “Never mind.”
They helped me set up my dating profiles, then listened to me vent about the women I met and discarded along the way. They know I want a wife and my own baby-making factory. How could I not? With six brothers enjoying their happily ever after, it’s hard not to believe in the institution.
Conor quickly checks his phone, probably worried he missed a message from his Little Bee. I’m surprised he took time off fussing over his twins. He hardly ever leaves the house without them.
Cody’s yet to become a dad, but his presence is still surprising. He’s so fucking whipped it makes me nauseous.
And jealous.
We’re all twenty-seven, so I expected at least one little Hayes from him, since my family produce kids like we’re living in a post-apocalyptic world and we’re the only ones who can repopulate the planet.
For now, though, Cody says Blair’s busy making a name for herself in the fashion industry, and they have time. I call bullshit. I think he’s perfectly happy as favorite uncle to most of our nieces and nephews.
He’ll probably need to split his charming uncle persona further at some point; I doubt all the baby-making factories in the family are closed.
Conor says his twin chaos generators are quite enough, and seeing the mayhem they cause, I agree. Theo’s happy with two boys, as is Shawn, and Logan officially said enough when he got his daughter a little over two years ago.
That means four out of eight Hayes baby factories are closed, but I don’t think Nico’s satisfied with just one.
In my humble opinion, one is too many for him. I take back everything I ever said about how overprotective he was toward his wife, Mia. He’s twenty times worse with his daughter.
Two gorgeous baby girls born a week apart. Logan never lets us forget that his daughter, Ava, is older than Melody by seven days, making him the first of us to father a daughter.
“Fine. Express Dates it is, but if you breathe a word—”
“We won’t,” Conor says, holding his pinky out. “Pinky promise. We won’t even mention how dumb you are as long as you give this a fair shot.”
Conor points toward the hallway. “The taxi will be here in fifteen minutes. Go pretty yourself up. We’ll be waiting outside.”
I pull off a convincing scowl, taking my beer with me as I rise to my feet. I’m not half as pissed off as I should be. Deep down, a small part of me, the part that yearns for more than casual fucks, stirs to life again.
Looks like I didn’t bury it deep enough.
